


Through Other Eyes

by rhymer23



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Inspired by Photography, Rivendell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:09:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymer23/pseuds/rhymer23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo was never seen in the Shire again, but with Aragorn’s help, he can still see the Shire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Other Eyes

This was written for the October 2013 Lord of the Rings Community Challenge on LJ, which had the theme "One picture is worth a thousand words." The story – minus notes – is 1000 words exactly, inspired by a picture of a field at sunset.

******

**Through Other Eyes**

The city was drawn in charcoal and pastel, as faint as a distant dream. "I wonder where it is," Bilbo murmured, as his fingers ghosted over the pale towers. "No," he breathed in sudden understanding, for the sense of loss in those lines was palpable. "I wonder where it _was._ "

He laid the book down on his lap, and sat awhile, thoughts wandering. Above him, carved traceries made shadow-patterns in the sunlight. Flowers twined through the railings, and the wall behind him was smooth and cool. 

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Bilbo half started up, then settled back down with a laugh of delight. "Dunadan! You're back!" But Aragorn's eyes were shadowed and his face was etched with lines. Bilbo's smile faltered. "You've been..."

"In the north and in the east," Aragorn said, "in the wilds, and beyond them. But it is over now." He smiled, but the lines did not soften, or not by much.

Bilbo patted the stone bench. "Sit down, sit down."

Aragorn did so wearily, and for a while they sat side by side in silence. A tiny spider wove gossamer threads upon the petals. Not far away, an elf was singing, her voice like sunlight on running water. Bilbo watched as Aragorn listened.

"Did you...?" he asked, when he could keep it in no longer. "Have you been...?"

"Oh yes," said Aragorn. "At the first turning of spring."

Leaves skittered across the terrace, golden in the autumn breeze. "Tell me," Bilbo breathed.

"It was in the Southfarthing," Aragorn said. "I had come up in haste from Sarn Ford."

"In haste?" Bilbo's hand fluttered to his breast. "Is the Shire in danger?"

Perhaps unconsciously, Aragorn’s fingers brushed his sword. "It was," he said, "but it was a small danger, and it is past."

"Good. Good." Bilbo let out a breath. "I often walked in the Southfarthing before..." He closed his eyes; opened them again. "Tell me what you saw."

It was an old game, and Aragorn knew the rules. "I saw a tree. It was still bare, still clinging to winter, but in the distance and all around, the other trees were clad in the first fresh leaves of spring."

"Oh yes," sighed Bilbo. "I remember spring time in the Shire. The trees here are more beautiful, of course, but I have never known a dearer green."

"There were no buildings," said Aragorn, "but there was nothing wild about it, not at all. There were fields and trees, but nearer than that, stretching away from the path, were long lines of well-tended vines, just beginning to sprout new leaves."

"Old Winyards!" Bilbo gave a shuddering laugh. "A flask of Old Winyards at the fireside after a long day's walk." He sighed. Strange birds were singing and strange butterflies flew. "But you haven't finished the game, Dunadan. The sky! Tell me about the sky."

"It was sunset," said Aragorn. "There were low clouds at the horizon, and the sun itself was hidden, but the entire western sky was… not aflame, for it was softer than that, but the colour of a ripe peach."

"I have never seen a peach," said Bilbo.

"A rose, then." Aragorn’s voice was smiling, but Bilbo could not see him; his eyes saw other places, far away. "The colour of a hobbit maiden’s blushes, but fading at the edge to gold and then to cream."

"I see it," Bilbo breathed. "I see it."

Aragorn said nothing for long while. "You miss the Shire," he said at last, and his voice was gentle.

"Of course I do." He had not meant to say it. It was impossible to feel discontent in the House of Elrond, everybody knew that; but Bilbo was still half dazed with sunset. "Of course I do."

But there was no leaving Rivendell now, not for him. He had tried, in those early days; so often had he tried. He had tried to journey to brave new lands, but always his feet betrayed him, and he found himself heading the same way. _I’ve just popped back for that ring of mine, Frodo, my lad. Can I see it again, just once?_

_Can I touch it?_

_Can I hold it?_

_Give it to me!_

Bilbo wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. "But you can never feel discontent in the House of Elrond, or not for long." He forced a smile, and a moment later it became a real one, meant from the heart. "And why should I need to see it again, when I have friends who paint such pictures with their words? It is enough, my friend. It is more than enough." 

"I’m glad," said Aragorn, but although his voice was gentle, it was grave.

Bilbo blinked, clearing memories from his eyes. "Oh dear. Here you are indulging an old hobbit’s fancy, when you’ve been enduring who knows what hardships out in the wilds."

"Nay," said Aragorn, "it is always a balm to me to remember it." He stood up, and Bilbo saw that the lines on his face were indeed eased, and his eyes were less shadowed, and sunlight danced on his head like a crown. "But other tasks await me, and I must take my leave." 

His hand rested for a moment on Bilbo’s hair. It smelled of earth and stone and great open spaces. Bilbo shifted, and the book almost slid from his lip. He grabbed it by its edges, careful not to touch the fragile picture.

"It is called Annuminas," said Aragorn quietly.

"What is?" Bilbo asked.

"The city in the picture," Aragorn said. "The capital of the Kings of Arnor, drawn long ago by one of my fathers, after the fall."

He walked away. Nearby, and suddenly, a voice rose up, singing of Valinor, so far beyond the reaches of the sea. 

Bilbo gazed at the picture, until the pastel towers blurred and trembled with his slow tears. 

Not all exiles had friends who could paint them pictures of their lost home.

******

END

******

 **Notes:** This story made me want to write more in a similar vein. I tried to fight it for a while, since I didn't want to undermine this story, but it's hard to fight the Muse when she's being vocal. Therefore over the next few days, I will be posting Voices at the Door, which is a 16,000 word story that covers the whole of Bilbo's time in Rivendell, seeing it in snapshots and short scenes between Bilbo and Aragorn. I still want this story to stand alone, but if you want to read more in this vein, look out for Voices at the Door, coming soon to a website near you!


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